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Christofer couldn’t believe it.
It was classic. You couldn’t write it. One bed, one room, him and Katherine fucking Lethbridge-Stewart.
It was a work trip. Travelling out to Belarus to look at some potential satellite launch sites. UNIT was still regrouping after it’s recent Brexit dissolution, and his commander was desperate to begin scraping back that hard power. Seemingly pointless trips like these had become the norm in the absence of any existential threats.
The trip had been last minute. He knew he was going to share a room with Kate - a product of budget cuts and a HQ concerned that as her protection detail in a hostile country, the room next door wasn’t close enough. It was a matter they’d had dozens of discussions about, making sure they were both comfortable with the arrangement. Risk assessments had been drawn up, files had been filed - everything modern day bureaucracy demanded. The hotel however, had apparently royally screwed all that work up by giving them a double instead of a twin.
“Right,” Kate said in a matter of fact tone. They both stood in the doorway, suitcases in hand, Christofer clutching his like a rubber ring on a sinking ship. It feels like a dangerous threshold between sensibility - his job, his boss, their professional relationship - and something else. Something else that looked like secret hand-holding after near death experiences, whispers in corridors between meetings, vague flirting over the water cooler.
“There’s obviously been a mix up,” she states.
“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “I’ll go down to reception, get it sorted?”
Kate looks at him. Her hand clasps and unclasps her suitcase handle.
“You could… But I mean, it’s fine. Right?” She asks. “It’s the middle of the night, we’ve just been travelling 12 hours. If you’re not bothered, I’m not.”
Christofer takes a breath. She had a point. It wasn’t a big deal - two grown adults just sharing a bed on a business trip.
“Alright ma’am,” he agrees, “it’s only one night either way.”
“Great,” she musters, and powers on into the room.
It is alright, he tells himself. It was just Kate. His boss. It’s not like he wasn’t used to being glued to her side. That was what he was paid for - her Colonel, her second in command. Everyday was different with her, and he’d quickly learned that there wasn’t much downside to being paid to spend time with Kate Stewart. It was maybe a month ago that they’d stood out on that helipad and in a moment of vulnerability - or perhaps delirium - he’d slipped his hand into hers. She’d smiled up at him, he’d smiled back, and then the TARDIS dematerialised and she’d let go, walking off and barking orders like it had never happened.
Sometimes he wondered if it had happened. Neither of them had mentioned it since. Maybe he’d made her uncomfortable? Maybe she’d thought it was a friend thing? He was a man of few words. Maybe he should probably use them more.
Back in the present, Christofer finds that co-existing with Kate is fairly uneventful. She takes a couple calls, does her emails. She showers and changes into checkered pyjamas. She asks after his dog and he asks after her kids. He goes over the car’s planned route for tomorrow and at 11 o’clock it’s lights out. He curls up as close to the edge of the bed as he can get and tries to ignore the smell of her fruity shampoo.
Christofer wakes to the sound of a muffled groan.
It’s pitch dark and hot. At first he jumps, forgetting that he’s not alone, and feels the duvet shift slightly. Then again, a groan. Followed by mumbles - scared mumbles.
He sits up to look at Kate. She’s a dark silhouette, but he can make out her tossing against the sheets. She’s having a nightmare, he realises.
Roll over, a part of him thinks. Spare her the embarrassment. But it’s difficult to listen to. His heart twinges for her as her brow furrows in anxiety over imagined monsters.
He was her second in command - it was his job to protect her.
“Commander,” he whispers gently, reaching out for her shoulder, and then more firmly, “Commander!”
Brown eyes snap open as Kate’s wrenched out of her nightmare and back into reality. She all but jumps away from him, narrowly avoiding falling out of the bed.
“You were having a nightmare,” he pulls his hand away as she frantically wipes away tears and catches her breath.
“Sorry,” she mumbles.
“It’s okay,” Christofer responds softly, “I get them too. More often than I’d like to admit.”
“I - um. Sorry,” she repeats, shifting to prop herself up against the pillows.
It’s only then that he realises how close he is and how wildly inappropriate he’s probably being. Waking her up in their (accidental) shared bed, all after pathetically holding hands with her after they had both been resurrected.
“I woke you didn’t I?” Her face twists.
“It’s alright,” he says firmly, “Can I… ask what it was? I don’t know - sometimes it helps me when I get them. To talk.”
“Oh,” she says dismissively, “just… you know. Sutekh stuff. The usual really.”
Christofer’s face falls. He felt a lot of guilt about that day. He had failed her - seeing his own death approaching and being able to do nothing about it. Watching her crumble to dust in front of him. Watching her put down her gun, speak into the ether and beg the Doctor for some sort of salvation. The woman he loved -
Loved? That’s a strong word. He stops that train of thought immediately.
“Kate-“ he tries to say, but it chokes in his throat slightly. “I never apologised for that day.”
She frowns at you through the dark. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t do my job properly that day,” he states, as if it’s obvious. “I should have been quicker. Done something. You died - as your Colonel I literally couldn’t have cocked it up any moreso.”
“Cocked it up?” She repeats with a sort of sad myrth. “Darling, a god of death appeared in our office. The bloody Doctor couldn’t prevent it and you certainly couldn’t have done anything. You died seconds later, I seem to recall learning.”
He blinks back tears and look away. It was an incredibly domestic scene - her in her matching pyjamas and mussed hair, him in his white t-shirt, the both of them commiserating in bed together. She’d called him darling. He’d called her Kate. Uncharted territory.
“Have you been blaming yourself for my death all this time?” She asks quietly. Her hand reaches out, cups the side of his face. Her touch is electric and her thumb strokes over his beard.
He nods silently against her palm, unable to look away from her eyes. Forget Sutekh or any other existential threat, she will be the death of him.
“Darling,” she whispers again, and god he could die happy hearing her say that. “It’s not your fault,” she murmers. She’s closer now, leaning in, “it’s not your fault,” she repeats against his lips and then he’s kissing her.
It’s soft and cautious, and his mind goes black as he tries to process the fact that all his fantasies are coming true at once. She breaks the kiss - perhaps to mentally list through all of the protocols and policies she’s currently breaking, perhaps just to catch her breath - and he stares at her dumbly, mouth open like a fish, all of his usual suave and cool gone.
“Sorry,” she begins to ramble, “that’s unprofessional. Was that alright? I can’t bear the thought of you carrying that guilt when -“
He leans in again and this time the desire hits him like a wave, requiring everything within himself to keep it at bay. There’s a sigh and an arm wraps around his neck, the other fighting off the duvet tangled around her legs to get as close to him as possible. He slips a hand under the hem of her pyjama shirt to find hot, smooth skin and he groans into her mouth.
The noise seems to bring him back to himself and the tension in the room snaps, reality flooding back in. The kiss breaks but he can’t bring himself let go of her, this beautiful, soft, untouchable being who has for some reason decided to seat herself in his lap, pliant beneath his gaze.
“Wanted to do that for a while,” Christofer confesses before she can say anything.
“Me too,” is all she manages. She leans in again, but he musters every resolve within himself and pulls away. She pouts and he can’t help but smile.
“You have to be up at 6am tomorrow,” he points out.
“I’ll sleep in the car,” she quips back.
“Someone has to drive that car,” he retorts.
She laughs and it’s a nice sound, much better than her whines of fear as she shook in the grip of her nightmare, only minutes earlier.
“I never get to tell you how much I appreciate you,” she says, shifting to lie back down and pulling him down with her. Her golden hair splays around her head like a halo, and fingers thread through his. “You make this job a damn lot easier for me, you know that? Not just the admin and workload stuff, but just… you.”
He knows what she means. He pulls her close and she sleeps sounder than she has in months.